A/N: Hi twilight fanfic readers!

A few months back, I decided to join in Meet the Mate contest where the premise is to create a story where lovers meet in the strangest ways. I didn't win, but it felt great just to have my story posted there, alongside other remarkable stories, and read people's reviews. I was very happy to have had 86 reviews just with this one-shot (I never knew that was possible before! I usually get just around 10 reviews per chapter). Not that I pay too much attention to the number of reviews (as always, it is what the message of the readers that matters), but it was enough for me to feel like a winner as well.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you, thank you, thank you! (I don't have much leisure time to send message to each reviewer as of the moment, but I promise to find time to send individual thank yous to you).

For those wondering if this story will continue, to be honest, it's been a while since I last updated my two stories because of circumstances in my private life (that I can't easily disclose), so right now, making this into multi-chapter is not my priority. However, I do not close my doors into the possibilities.

Hearing your thoughts on my first try for a Twilight contest is encouraging. I will also answer questions if you have any. Lastly, I am very curious to know what you think will happen next to this story. I have ideas, but it'll be interesting to hear yours.

Thank you again, and enjoy reading!

- Blooming on a Snow –

September 16, 2015

LEAP OF FATE

Author: Blooming on a Snow

Beta: SunflowerFran (THE BEST BETA IN THE TWILIGHT FANFIC UNIVERSE!)

Words: 4, 750

One …

Two …

Three …

Here I go.

She braced herself to take the one leap that would set her free from all the difficulties she was facing.

I could do this – she kept telling herself.

It wouldn't be too hard for her; it would all be over so fast – just a split second – and she wouldn't even feel a thing. After all, no one would look for her, or need her. This is the only thing she could do right now to save herself.

One,

Two,

Three, she counted again.

She closed her eyes as the cold winter wind wafted towards her, almost knocking off her balance. She felt loneliness as she contemplated the unfairness of the world, and wished once more that she had not been born into the Swan family and had never met Charlie Swan.

But whether she liked it or not, nothing could change the fact that she was indeed the daughter of Charlie Swan. There was nothing she could do to alter that except to jump.

She braced herself again, her resolve forming.

She took a huge breath – her body automatically shivering from the wind – but none of the cold affected her.

Her senses were numb.

She put one foot forward with eyes still closed.

One,

Two,

Three …

Dammit! Why couldn't she just do it? She didn't have to count in her head – she should just jump.

Feeling even more frustrated, she gritted her teeth and punched her thighs in succession.

A low voice broke her out of her reverie.

"Are you going to jump, or not?"

She snapped her head towards the source to see a tall man a few feet away from her.

Acting on instinct, she held her palms forward and shouted, "Don't stop me! Stay where you are or I'll jump right this instant."

However, instead of being threatened, the man only snickered as he took a step towards her.

She looked back to the stranger, closing her fists in ire.

"I'm not planning to stop you," the man said after snickering. Bella detected an English accent from his words. Posh? She categorized.

"Then get the hell out of here so I can finally take that damned jump," she responded in her ordinary North American accent. She hated to admit it but everything about the man seems out of the norm. He seemed to be an entirely different species with a strikingly handsome face, bronze hair, and sexy British accent.

Why would an attractive British guy come to her on the day she decided to die? And for some reason, why does she think he looks familiar, as though she had already seen him before?

But it was hardly the time for her to worry about him. It was hardly the time for her to worry about anything else, as a matter of fact. The only thing she needed to worry about right now was focusing on the jump.

She turned back to finally finish the task.

One,

Two,

Three.

Dammit!

Why was she counting again?

As the woman in front of him struggled to take the leap, Edward took his fag and lighter out of his coat pocket, hoping to battle the cold night with the little warmth smoking could provide. He would bide his time as he waited for his turn on the building's edge.

It didn't escape his notice how the woman's beauty was unparalleled to the ones he was accustomed to seeing. It wasn't that she looked stunning; it was that her face looked interesting; a unique beauty that would draw you in; a face he could stare at for an extended period of time; the kind that looks more beautiful with every second that passes.

But then again, he may be biased.

He'd always preferred brunettes, and he'd always preferred Americans. They say what's on their mind, and it's a quality he fancied.

He hated false modesties and pretentiousness.

It was too bad he hadn't met this woman sooner, not today, when she was planning to end her life before he could …

If only she could finally take that leap.

After a few more minutes of watching her struggle to jump – and after Edward had almost finished smoking his fag –, he grew a little impatient and finally approached her.

At first, she was wary of him, and this he seemed to find funny. However, after she watched as he sat beside her at the edge of the building, her nerves seemed to ease a little.

Edward took the last drag, before flicking it away in front of him. He and the woman both watched as the cigarette disappeared before it reached the ground.

"My name is Anthony," Edward says, choosing not to reveal his real name. "I apologize for being candid, but I am in a bit of a tight schedule here. So, if you could hurry up a bit, I would appreciate it very much. You see, I also need to jump."

Edward shrugged nonchalantly, and Bella grew surprised once she processed his words.

"You're also planning to commit suicide," she whispered – in awe of their unusual situation.

"Yes, I also plan to jump from this building."

"No way – are you serious; two people, same building, same time, same thoughts of suicide? What are the fucking odds?"

The man laughed again – amusement filling his eyes as the woman in front of him cracks.

"It's just like in the movies," she continued.

"It's like a film, yes," he agreed.

After a few moments of deliberation, Bella finally said, "Why don't you jump first? I don't mind."

She knows that this will buy her more time and God knows she's dealt with too much pressure as it is.

"I apologize again, Miss, but I'm afraid that might not work. First, because I am a gentleman by nature, and it is always ladies first for me." At this, Bella grew a little irritated, thinking it was hardly the time for the man to boast of his gentlemanly British ways. "And second, if I go first, you'll have less time to jump. For you see, once my … err … Laborers – if you may, see my dead corpse on the ground, everyone will go berserk and look up. You'd lose the opportunity to jump when they see you here."

This was bad; what he just illustrated gives me more pressure than I can handle right now.

Looking down at the man seated beside her, Bella assessed the situation.

"How much time do you have for this suicide thing?"

The man glanced at his watch.

"I have at least an hour, I reckon."

Bella nodded and lowered herself as Edward watched her in surprise. She sat at the edge in the same way as he was.

"What?" she demanded when he seemed to have trouble looking away from her.

"Nothing. Sorry, I was just astonished you decided to sit instead. Does that mean you're not jumping any longer?"

She couldn't help but mumble, "You British men apologize quite a lot with your hot accent even when you've done nothing wrong."

"Sorry, what was that?" Edward asked though he clearly heard the whole thing. He just didn't want to embarrass the woman in front of him.

"Huh?" Bella pretended not to understand him.

He smiled, and it made him so much more darn good-looking that Bella hated herself for noticing these unnecessary things at her last moments.

"Forget about it. Back to the question, then," he brought up with that darn smile still in place. "Did you change your mind about jumping?"

"No, I only want to jump at the last minute."

"All right ... Then what do you propose to do instead?"

Right at that moment, another strong wind blew towards the two, making Bella automatically hug herself as a shiver erupted. She noted how she could now feel the cold – her numbness was finally gone.

Edward momentarily froze, mesmerized by the woman's flaccid hair being blown by the wind until he snapped out of it. His British roots kicked in and he shrugged out of his coat to offer it to his companion.

"Here. You'd freeze to death with those thin layers of clothing even before you jumped."

"Thank you," Bella said as she reached for the coat.

However, instead of simply handing it to her, the British guy got off the building's edge and personally assisted her in putting on the coat. Impressed, Bella could feel her cheeks burning as the man made her feel very feminine with his gentlemanly gesture.

Dammit! She mentally scolded herself.

Snap out of it, Bella.

However, as if to torture her more, the little self-control she had over the ridiculously hot British guy was tested once more when he even rubbed his hands over Bella's ear to warm her.

After this, he sat again, this time only inches apart from her.

Bella refused to look at him, and Edward refused to remove his eyes from her face.

"So, since we're both killing time before we kill ourselves by finally taking that jump, why don't you tell me about yourself?" Edward said to open the topic.

"You serious?" Bella turned to him with an incredulous expression. "We're gonna do this 'getting to know each other' thing before we die?"

"Well, what do you suggest as an alternative?"

Coming up blank, Bella shrugged, thinking, 'Oh, why not.'

"All right, I'm Bella Swan. How about you?"

"I'm Anthony Masen," he lied, instead of telling his real name. "I'm a wee bit famous, and I'm genuinely stunned you don't know anything about me."

"I knew it! I thought I saw you before. Did you get featured in some magazine?"

"Yes, I did show up in a few, and on the telly, too."

"Sorry, I don't watch much TV except for my favorite series. So, you're some sort of celebrity?"

Edward laughed quietly; realizing the woman – Bella – had no idea who he really was.

"No, I'm not in show business. I'm a different sort of famous."

"Oh, I get it, I get it. Sorry, I don't know you."

"It's fine."

Bella nodded – embarrassed about her lack of knowledge of who he could be.

"So, Anthony," she said to change the topic, "if you don't mind me asking, why are you trying to jump off this hotel rooftop?"

The cold wind was slightly getting to Edward with his coat now gone. He reached for his packet of fags in his jeans … only to realize it was in his coat pocket.

"Do you mind, Bella? I have to get my, err, my cigarettes from my coat."

"Oh, no, of course."

Edward reached into the right pocket as he answered Bella's question.

"As I've confessed, I'm a wee bit famous, and it was driving me nuts. There was a family mayhem. They were pressuring me to marry the daughter of a wealthy man to expand the, err, family enterprise, and for good publicity. Since the day I was born, they have been dictating my life, and the only way for me to get out of it all is to end that life."

He then finally took out his fags and the lighter, and proceeded to light one.

"That sucks," Bella noted. "I thought fixed marriages didn't happen anymore. And what's with controlling your child's life? My dad had no say whatsoever in me doing things without his supervision. He was never around or interested."

Way too out of his supervision, to be honest, she added as an afterthought.

Everything that Edward said was the truth, but he left some parts out, and it was making him feel a little guilty.

He smoked one long drag and blew the smoke in front of him, making Bella suppress her urge to cough.

"How about you, Bella? Why is a beautiful woman such as you at the top of this building, in the middle of the night, planning to end her life?"

Bella felt her cheeks warm in embarrassment from Edward's compliment.

"Cancer," she lied.

"I'm sorry," Edward automatically responded.

"Yeah, there was no more cure, so I reckoned, why not end my life now? That's where it was leading anyway."

The guilt of lying was eating on her, but she didn't want to reveal her true reasons – it was too personal. And quite frankly, it was sad and pathetic; sadder than lying about having cancer.

Edward took another drag.

"What type of cancer and what stage?"

Bella crammed her head for a possible answer until remembering a book she read about two cancer kids falling in love.

"Lung cancer, stage four."

Upon hearing this, Edward coughed in surprise, and immediately flicked his cigarette away.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know. I shouldn't have smoked in front of you."

Seeing Edward's reaction, Bella coughed in pretense.

"It's cool, no need to worry. I'm about to die anyway, remember?"

"But I didn't have to make it any more difficult for you."

Bella felt guiltier at the Englishman's words. She looked down and spotted the lighter in Edward's hand, and it made her think of changing the topic to forget her guilt.

"It's funny – that lighter looks exactly like the lighter I lost a year ago. It's amazing because my father claimed there was only one of them in the world, but I know now he was completely lying."

Edward inspected the lighter in his hand as Bella continued, "It even had my father's initials on it …"

However, as she spoke, her words halted and her smile vanished when Edward showed her the lighter.

The initials "C.S." were not hard to miss.

"What the fu – how did they get on there?"

"Been there since I found it."

"It was my father's, Charlie Swan … How did you get it? I threw that lighter away at the Art Gallery when my father left me."

"Your father left you?"

"It's a long story," Bella immediately responded, hoping to evade inquiries.

Edward understood her evasion so he chose to answer her instead.

"If I remember correctly, I picked it up below the painting of… Pierre Krause was the artist. Err… The Mind of the Mute was the title. It was last year."

Processing his words, Bella was in complete awe as she reminisced over that very day …

It was a Monday, and God she hated Mondays. This particular Monday was more horrible than any other she had ever had. It was because when she woke up in the morning, her father had left her … once again.

She noticed a used mug in the sink, and upon touching it, felt that it was still slightly warm from the coffee. It made her realize that he couldn't have been gone that long.

With this in mind, she hopped in her old, run-down Chevy truck to try to catch up with him.

She noticed that the lighter– Charlie's – was left in the truck the last time he borrowed it, and on impulse she put in her pocket.

However, he was nowhere in sight. She didn't know where he went, and after running around for two hours, desperately seeking a mop of brown hair and a mustache, she finally gave up the chase.

In her despair, she went to the one place where she could always find solace – at an Art Gallery. She always had a penchant for art, and could draw when her mood kicked in.

It was the only sanctuary she could find.

She sat on one of the benches at the gallery, fighting back tears the whole time as she stared at the abstract painting of what she can interpret as a bewildered mind.

"Charlie Swan, you cowardly son-of-a-bitch, I will murder you when you come back. If I'm not already dead."

Those were her last words before she took out Charlie's stupid lighter and threw it on the bench beside her. It had bounced thrice before it settled on the ground, directly below the painting.

"Wow," Bella could only mumble as the memories flooded her. "Of all the places in the world, you were there in Phoenix, at the La Mystique Art Gallery, to pick up my father's lighter. That's the weirdest coincidence I've ever heard."

Edward smiled awkwardly as he processed their situation.

"It was strange, indeed. You weren't tearing up at that time, were you?"

"No, I was not," Bella lied.

Edward nodded, thinking, it was highly unlikely that it was her, anyhow, as he remembered bumping into someone weeping– on his way to take a seat …

"So, I reckon this should be yours then?"

Edward handed her the lighter, but Bella shook her head in refusal.

"No, you keep it. It's yours now, finders keepers, and all that. And besides, it kinda holds bad memories so I'd prefer it away from me."

Edward nodded in understanding.

The unusual couple then found themselves engaging in conversations about anything and everything. It was amazing to both of them how easily they clicked. Their preferences were almost always the same – about books, music, films, television shows – except that one time they argued about their favorite characters on a popular series.

"Come on, Daenerys Targaryen – total badass. She has gone through so much hardship, from being the weakest to now, ruling a country and freeing slaves. And she has DRAGONS, for crying out loud. Nothing can ever beat dragons," said Bella.

"I understand the feminism and underdog charm involved, especially with you ladies suddenly feeling empowered." At this Bella laughed in cynicism, and rolled her eyes, "but come on – the only person who could be a fair and wise ruler is Tyrion Lannister. Granted, he couldn't pick a sword to save his life but he could do so with words. He knows the politics involved in ruling, and he enjoys the game."

After a few more arguments and rebuttals, Bella found herself genuinely laughing for the first time in … she could not even remember the last time she laughed like this.

"Are we seriously debating over our favorite Game of Thrones characters right now? We both know that it is a risk to have a favorite character in Game of Thrones, right?"

"Dammit. George R.R. Martin should found a school about torturing readers. He'd be a crueler headmaster than Snape."

It was the first time Edward cursed in front of a woman, but he realized it was also the first time he had ever been himself with anyone before.

The realization made him stop for a second.

Unaware of Edward's musings, Bella laughed again.

"No doubt about that. But despite all that, he was my favorite character in Harry Potter. Too bad he had to die."

What Bella said made them remember their real situation. Edward could not help but feel sad for the short time he had with this fascinating woman. The way she laughed was something he'd never seen in anyone before – unbridled, genuine.

And the most interesting thing about her was the way she had no knowledge of him at all. It was another first for him.

"What was the craziest thing you'd ever done, aside from this," Bella asked.

"Err, not a lot. But there was once where I flew into LA, because, as I told you, I fancy the American culture, and I snuck into a pub."

"Really?" Bella asked in surprised delight. "That was your definition of 'crazy'?"

"I know it doesn't sound much, but yes, it was bonkers crazy for me. I had to evade a bloody lot of people to get there."

"Huh. That was funny – I worked in a club in LA."

"It was not, by any chance, called The Bicycle, was it?" Edward jested.

However, upon Bella's reaction, Edward grew dumbfounded as he realized that once again, he was spot on.

Bloody hell, how madly connected were they!

"You worked there," he mumbled the obvious.

"You're honestly creeping me out right now," Bella spoke in monotone; shocked as well.

"But it was four years ago, and I only went there once. We couldn't have met there, could have we?"

Her voice cracking a little, Bella answered, "I worked there last in 2011, exactly four years ago."

Eyes growing wider in surprise, Edward reminisced about that very night and how he was sure he heard an angel …

It was a warm night. Edward was supposed to attend a press conference but made a planned escape from his bodyguards.

It was a success … for a few short hours.

During those hours, he decided to visit the nearest pub from his hotel. Once the bouncer finally let him through, he entered at around midnight.

He took the booth farthest from the crowd. He had on his normal clothes as well as a cap, and had ordered himself a Heineken for his first beer.

The emcee announced that it was the last act of the night, drawing his attention to the stage.

At this pronouncement, an attractive blonde woman emerged.

Blondes don't usually interest Edward, but this blonde had big, brown eyes that seemed depthless. They were the most interesting feature on her face.

She sang a lovely rendition of La Vie en Rose while playing the Ukulele.

Edward could never forget the angelic voice he heard that night. The way she sang was heartfelt – and this praise came from a man who was not easily pleased when it comes to music.

However, as usual, his bodyguards found him and he didn't have the opportunity to ask the singer's name.

"Have you changed your hair color before?" Edward asked as he recalled the memory. Surely, it would be too much of a coincidence if they had already met that night, and she was the singer, would it not?

"Once," Bella answered – truthfully this time. "It was a rebellious phase, and blonde does not suit me at all."

"You weren't the pub's singer, were you?"

Bella shook her head, no, answering with a laugh, "I was the floor lady of the club, but I did sing one night."

She remembered it was her first heartbreak, and she had a few shots before confidently walking up onto the stage.

She remembered imitating a song from her favorite TV show at the time, How I Met Your Mother.

But it couldn't possibly be that time Anthony went to the club … could it?

"But even though I wasn't the club's singer, it's crazy that you went to the same bar where I worked.

"Yes," Edward agreed.

They could have already met twice before!

"It reminds me of the first American mate I had, Thinker Bell," he recounted. "I used to pen her all the time until she said she could no longer pen me back. I was devastated, but I would always remember it as a fond memory."

Even before Edward finished his story, Bella was already feeling panicked.

"No way," she mumbled.

Eyes growing wide again, Edward uttered, "You don't say …?"

Gobsmacked, Bella had a hard time closing her mouth when she responded, "I stopped replying because I moved to Phoenix when I was ten; after my mother died. I remembered Peter Pan telling me he watched a documentary about a British soldier sending a message in a bottle across the sea to his wife, and he imitated it. He randomly selected a place to send his letter, and it reached my house."

Edward was now the one who was having a hard time closing his mouth at Bella's revelation.

"I was lonely as a lad. I was surrounded by adults, and I had no mates. I requested one of our laborers to send my letter to a random home in the States. It was akin to a miracle when Thinker Bell penned me back."

It took them even longer to process this new information, feeling something indescribable transpiring at that very moment.

It was as though, all along, their lives were intertwined unbeknownst to them, and fate was dealing them a mean hand.

They then both reminisced about their fond childhood memories of anticipating the letter from each other, miles away, as they both wordlessly stared into each other's eyes.

Bella was the first one to crack.

"Oh my gosh, this is … it's just … it's blowing my mind."

"Blimey, these circumstances do not happen in real life," Edward mumbled in awe.

Then, they both started to giggle. Their quiet voices soon turned into loud laughing, until they were borderline hysterical.

Once their laughter died, Edward could not fight it any longer, and he reached for Bella's face.

He looked at her, gauging her reaction to what he was about to do. Would it be acceptable to kiss her? However, he got his answer when Bella suddenly stopped him.

"Wait, Anthony," she blurted out, looking away from him.

Realizing her rejection, Edward removed his hands from her face.

"I'm so sorry, I was an arse. I just assumed you fancy snogging me as well, and I …"

"No, no, Anthony, it's not like that. It's just that, I just want to say I lied to you."

At this, Edward's complete attention was captured.

"I wasn't lying about the other things, but I lied about the reason I was jumping from this building. I don't have cancer, and I don't want you to kiss me because you pity me. The real reason why I am contemplating suicide is that my father left me, after owing an enormous debt to some mobsters. He has always been like that, and I just felt as if I couldn't take it anymore."

"That's bloody horrible," Edward said, saddened by this discovery.

"It was. I'm the one they'll come for to pay my father's debt, so I thought the only way to free myself was to die.

Also, I want you to think this through – this 'snogging' me – because, you know, we both are resolved to kill ourselves. How would this influence our decisions? Is this even the right time to be flirting?"

Edward took both of Bella's hands in his and rubbed them to get them warm.

It was a comforting gesture, and Bella appreciated it.

"Bella, I think this is the best time to do this. We only have seconds left – it's the perfect opportunity to do something without thinking it through, don't you agree?

And quite frankly, from the moment I saw you struggling to jump, I was already taken with you. You are beautiful, smart, and independent, and in the short time I've known you, I regret meeting you now when it will be the last time of our lives.

I don't want to regret not trying to understand this out-of-the-world connection that we have.

Don't you also want to regret nothing?"

At this, it was Bella who closed the distance between her and the sexy, beautiful British man. And as was suited to their situation, they kissed each other as though it was the last day of their lives.

Their kissing started as sweet, and gentlemanly, as was Edward's nature until it became frenzied and heated.

It was a cold winter night, but the way they kissed each other could start a fire.

Bella was all hands, touching all she could of Anthony; his hair, back, shoulders, arms, chest, neck, and abs.

Edward secured Bella with a tight but gentle grip on her waist, holding her as though she was the most fragile thing on the Earth.

It was a wonder they kept upright on top of the building's edge.

Once they broke apart, it took them a few seconds to breathe normally.

"One more thing, Bella," Edward said once he could finally breathe. "I, too, have lied to you a teensy bit."

Bella grew alert at this statement and focused her attention on Anthony.

"My name is not Anthony Masen. It is Edward Cullen."

"Edward Cullen," she whispered, thinking hard about how familiar the name was. "I feel as though I've already heard the name before."

"I reckon, yes," Edward answered suddenly looking abashedly at the woman before him. "It is a Royal name."

And that's when it finally hit Bella.

Why his name sounded familiar …

Why his face looked familiar …

He was freaking Edward Cullen.

"Oh my fucking God," she whispered in awe. She was sure her mouth was hanging open again, and her eyes were popping out in shock. "You are …"

"Yes," Edward responded, growing more embarrassed at his admission.

"I'm the Prince of England."